


Oughta Say Nox

by t0m_marvol0



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Cracky, F/M, Multi, Other, Texting, crack crack crack, iddddddddddddk what i'm doing with my life, texting parchment i should say, weird stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0m_marvol0/pseuds/t0m_marvol0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is typically a girl who can't say no. What can she say when Hagrid asks her an enormous favour?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oughta Say Nox

**Author's Note:**

> ye sthis crack relationship thought happened to me  
> mayve there will be more later from OTHERS' perspectives idk WHO KNOWS CAIN'T SAY NOOOOX

#

**_It ain't so much a question of not knowin' hut to do_ **

**_I knowed what's right an' wrong since I've been teen._ **

 

 

 

Hermione Granger satisfactorily slammed both palms atop her desk. She satisfactorily sniffed, and hap’ly hm-ed. 

Hermione’s workday was finished. She had finally and meticulously completed her Centaurs Really Are Pertinent to Humans and Our Learning and Education legislation. After four joyous nights of research and four painstaking nights of Ronald’s recent American Broadway Musical infatuation, Hermione figured she had earned a spot of celebration. She owl-ordered cupcakes from her favourite cupcakery down the block. She would pick them up on her way to her flat that she now shared with Ronald. He would not return until he and Harry had finished clearing Covent Garden of a young crop of Venemous Tentacula. Ronald was convinced it was a ‘Still At Large Death Eaters, (Suck It Potter!)’ conspiracy, (an actual rebel group), whereas Harry agreed with Hermione’s -- logical -- line of thought. Neville was consulting on the case, meaning that: Neville was slicing up the Tentacula -- with an occasional shear from Ronald or Harry -- whilst the other two boys tried to coerce the peonies into a game of Exploding Snap. 

Hermione sighed, imagining her best friends. Some days, she fancied she could still smell the must of the tent that provided them shelter in the forests over a year ago. Some days, she fancied all the ways she could sever the new Minister’s head from his neck.

All in all, life was at least satisfactory.

 

#

**_Or roses, or berries_ **

**_Whatcha gonna do?_ **

 

 

A memo arrived.

It tried to burrow into Hermione’s slicked hair. Today’s “animagram”, the new Minister dubbed them, was a shrew. The new Minister was absolutely and absurdly obsessed with all animals distinctly Muggle, thus the outing of the simple memo and the instating of the daily changing “animagrams”. Last Tuesday he had settled upon Vampire Bats: really, it had been a laugh. They had been almost as amiable as the Monster Book of Monsters.

Hermione extracted the shrew-gram from her bun and opened it.

 

 _Ms Granger_ ,

_An owl is awaiting your presence in the Post Room._

_Signed,_

_Mr Smeet_

 

An owl, intriguing. It wouldn’t be Ronald -- she had worked an enchanted parchment up where they could send messages back and forth to one another instantaneously. It wouldn’t be Harry, as she had done the same with him. It wouldn’t be her parents -- Muggles had a new sort of portable telephone and they had given her one for Christmas. 

She gathered her stack of C.R.A.P.H.O.L.E. legislation and tried to slide it in Junior Head Bernerd Berneby’s ‘receiving’ tray. It didn’t actually quite fit as was, so Hermione discreetly performed an Enlarging Charm on the thing. Berneby had gone off home, anyway. 

She got into the lift and made to the Atrium. Towards the back a courtyard had been constructed post-war, for security and owl purposes. Hermione entered the courtyard, nodded brisk to Mr Smeet, and awaited her owl on the ‘awaiting bench’. There were dozens swooping and sweeping, hooting and defecating above her. 

She didn’t recognise the owl -- perhaps it was from Neville. She had asked him rather politely that he keep her updated on the Covent Garden situation as it progressed, and that he inform her of any lackings in participation on the half of his ‘comrades’. It wasn’t from Nev. Curiously, it was from Hagrid.

 

_Hermione,_

_Would you mind to come round my place for a cuppa this evening? Soon as your offa work? Appreciate it lots._

_Might have a little favour ter ask, nothing big I promise._

_Send word with this bloke, or just pop on over. Be home all evening._

_Really appreciate it, Hermione!_

_Hagrid_

 

Hermione jotted back a ‘yes, be there shortly’. She did, after all, have to pick up her dozen cupcakes.

 

#

**_That yer sweeter than cream_ **

**_and he's gotta have cream or die?_ **

 

 

Hermione knocked on the door of Hagrid’s newly/partially constructed hut at a quarter to seven, with not a dot of cream cheese frosting on her lips or banana cake in her teeth. She heard whimpering and clattering from inside. Fang had suffered from the war as much as they -- in the way that a very large dog half-burned to death might.

“Fang, will yeh geddup off the table! It’s only ‘Mione, she ain’t gonna hurt yer nothin. Keep it movin, ya ol sod. ‘Mione!” Hagrid opened the door and engaged Hermione in one of his traditional bone-crushing embraces. Her left pump fell from her foot.

“Hagrid. It’s really, breathless-- pleasant to see you.” She smiled genuinely as she gathered up her shoe and entered the kerbobbled hut. 

“An you, just look at yer. All decked out in yer Ministry fines’.” Hagrid beamed and yanked Fang out from under the table. “Don’ mind him, he’s jus a little skittish these days, yeh know, after the er, war er, n wha not.” Hagrid stroked the hound and he laid himself at Hagrid’s feet. Only to be promptly shuffled off as Hagrid rose. “A cuppa tea?”

“Sure, Hagrid. A small cup, though. Thank you.” Hermione rolled her eyes after he turned to the stove, seeing that his smallest cup was roughly the size of her face.

“How’s things goin at the Ministry? After Kingsley shucked off n all?” Hagrid asked.

“Well enough. Satisfactory. As well as can be expected, I suppose. Minister Troutman, well, is a bit of an eccentric. He and Ronald got on bang off the bat, though. It’s astonishing, truthfully. I expected him to act the “Worship Our Saviour” part, but he’s quite withdrawn with Harry. Or so they claim. But after Fudge and Scrimgeour, and, well. His “animagrams” and “Thirsty Thursdays” aren’t much political fallacy by comparison.” Hermione discussed. 

“An Ron an Harry are likin it there?” Hagrid set her ‘small’ teacup in front of her.

“Yes, yes. Ronald seems to have no complaints. Do you believe that? For once in his life.” Hermione snorted and Hagrid chuckled.

“Ah, he’s a good boy. Yer lucky, you lot. An when yeh see them yeh best tell ‘em I’m expectin some more visits! Comin round on Christmas an not a peep for months?” Hagrid shook his head.

“They’re busy is all it is Hagrid. They, well, work often and lots, loads, heaps of hours. They’re on a case right now, in Covent Garden. Top rate stuff, in fact. They’re working very hard on it.” Hermione lied. They weren’t, as it was, too busy to call upon friends, nor did they work all that hard. Nor was the Venemous Tentacula all that top rate, in fact.

“You know what the worst is though? The ‘Dynamo Duo’. That’s what they’ve dubbed themselves. Children. Boy children.” Hermione scoffed. It was Ronald, of course, who had termed the name. He had insisted upon it with all of the Aurors, despite Harry’s feeble protests, and now even the Minister referred cases to the “DD”. Hermione suspected Harry relented, not because he enjoyed the name or its implications, but because it was a symbolic return to a normality he was comfortable with, as well as a strengthening of the bond he and Ronald shared, that had frayed so horribly that year. “Is that the favour you wanted to ask?” Hermione hoped against all hopes.

“Ah, yer the brightest o’ the bright, ‘Mione. That boy rubbish will be up an off soon enough an then yeh’ll be wishin you was young as a cryin Mandrake. But er, anywhom, yeah, I wanted ter ask a favour of yeh, if yeh wouldn terribly mind. It’d be no trouble, like I said, nothin big. Just a little favour that’d do ‘im some good.” Hagrid shifted and toyed with his hands, fingers around his mug. Hermione knew precisely what these actions meant, and precisely that she should depart before Hagrid got any further. 

But she didn’t. “Him? Hagrid? Who is _he_ , this time?” 

“Oh, ‘Mione, like I told yeh, it ain’t nothin big, it’s just Grawp’s been gettin’ all gloomy an loney an you were always his favourite an I’m bettin if you just, yeh know, took him out fer some comp-ny, a drink or a sup, he’d be er, pleased. I think he misses yeh.” Hagrid set upon her the most baleful (doleful?) eyes she had ever borne witness to.

“Oh, Hagrid. I, well, it’s ridiculous! Where possibly could I take him that would even contain his height? Not to mention, tables, seating, edibles, and utensil-size!” Hermione slapped her hand to her forehead, repeatedly, and flicked her fingers against her ‘small’ cup. 

“So yeh’ll do it? He’s gonna be so joyed! Overjoyed, ‘Mione. Yer the best o’ the lot, I always tell yer.” Hagrid reached across the table (which was not difficult for him to do) and enveloped her in a hug that dragged half her torso atop the table and her shoulder into her tea.

“I am unable to say ‘no’, whatever the circumstances be.” Hermione groaned into Hagrid’s beard. “Come Hell, and high water. Please.” She begged.

 

#

**_I'm just a girl who cain't say 'no'_ **

**_I'm in a terrible fix!_ **

 

 

Hermione stepped outside into the night, Apparated to the Hog’s Head, and ordered a shooter of Ogden’s Best.

 

> _Ronald, unsure when I will arrive back this evening. Are you at the flat?_

_^hermy affirmative. over and out._

_> Shut up. Insufferable prat. Why I bother with you is beyond all comprehension._

_^y r u gonna b late_?

> _Really, Ronald? Really?_

_^ whas wrong w/_

_^ o u cant it_

_^gunna do it now just to irriate u_

_> Ronald, I’m GOING ON A DATE WITH GRAWP._

 

 

 

_^what?_

> _YES. I AM TAKING HIM OUT FOR ‘SUP’, OR A ‘DRINK’, AS HAGRID SO CASUALLY SUGGESTED._

_^ BLOODY HELL_

_> And you called me Hermy! _

_^well jesus fucking hell i wouldn’t wish that on probably even malfoy!_

_^no scratch i woudl that ferrety fucker_

_^theyd be a scarlet lover couple. you should just invite along malfot and pair em up_

_> ”SCARLET LOVER?”_

_^ save yourself he needs a new goyle_

_^or was it crabbe?_

_> Ronald Goddamn Weasley! Insufferable!_

_^waht i cant remember_

_^either way look, grawp would be ideal replacemtn_

_> CORNELIUS FUDGE! Not now, Ronald. Hagrid would implode. _

_> Or worse, cry. _

_> If I have not returned, or you have not heard from me in an hour’s time, please promise me that you will: _

_Call the authorities, (IE. bring Harry, Kingsley, the Centaurs?),_

_2\. Bury me in the Forest of Dean_

^ _Mione christ_

_^where are you even going to take him a hippogriff ranch?_

_^with ranch dressing_

_^hahahahhahha_

_^the thestrals ketchup joint_

_^hahahahahhahhahahaha get it though? catch up ketchup hhhhahahaha_

_> Shut up, Ronald._

_^muggle condom mints are really becoming me dont u think? maybe u should take him to a muggle pub i bet he’d fit right in_

_> Haha, Mr Weasley. _

_> Please don’t. Hagrid said he’s been really well-behaved. He’s lonely. We saw him at Dumbledore’s funeral. Remember? He was a perfect gentleman._

_^he was 6 perfect gents_

_^and if i recall 6 perfect chairs were squashed under his gently bits_

_> RONALD ARTHUR WEASLEY IF YOU SO MUCH AS MENTION_

_> I’m leaving. _

_^ok love you._

_^you’ll b fine just go to the 3 and harry and i will b nearby just in case_

_> Fine._

_> Thank you._

 

_> Love you as well, Wesley Snipes._

_^love you barbarella_

_> Snipes, _

_> I’d rather a date with Snape._

 

_^rest in potions snivelly_

_^rip_

 

#

**_Nen I think of thet ol' golden rule,_ **

**_And do fer him what he would do fer me!_ **

 

 

Hermione was to meet Hagrid and Grawp at the Hogsmeade/Hogwarts divide. She was to meet Harry and Ronald outside the Hog’s Head just before that. 

She had already slapped Ronald upon the head (twice) when he claimed he had spent the entire Apparation over vomiting, picturing her and Snape on a date together and proceeding to describe it in explicit detail, and that it was clearly her fault he had Splinched a snippet of his large (exceedingly so) toe. And that his jumper was covered in vomit. She explained vomiting mid-Apparation was impossible, defiant of physical laws, etc. She Vanished Ronald’s “vomit” from his clothing.

“Thank you, Jesus.” Ronald inspected himself.

“Hermione. It’s Nev’s. _Ronald_ , here, has been on a bit of a Snape _kink_ all day, see? He was telling Nev the reason Snape was so hard,” Ron giggled in the middle of Harry’s explanation, “-- oh shitter, oh fucker, oh _Ronald_ \--” Harry stamped his feet and paced in tight circles, shaking his head. “He suggested that, that, erm. Snape was ‘scarlet lusting after him’ for all our school years. And then we all hurled, I think, a bit.” Harry gestured to his own trouser-leg. “Still hurling inside, actually. Everyone but our beloved _Wonnykins_.”

“Fuck a ferret Harry.” Ronald spat. 

“Out of my league, I’m afraid. According to you, I’ve only got a choice between Grawp or Shacklebolt, ‘at this pratting point in my single sodding life’.” Harry threw back, and grinned.

“I told you once, mate, I told you twice. Shacklebolt would shack up. He was always overly fond of you, if you ask me. Which you did.” Ronald clucked.

“Didn’t!” Harry’s face reddened. “I asked you why you thought, erm, _if_ you thought, Troutman had it out.” Harry’s face bubbled. “For me.” Hermione watched as Harry burst into a thousand sighs. Poor idiot. Ronald joined in, and pulled a Chocolate Frog from his trousers.

“Oi! Wonder if it’s me? Wanna bet? A Galleon on you, me, or Hermy.” 

“Odds _Ronald_. You’re on.” Harry challanged. 

“I am still here!” Hermione screeched. She would earnestly never understand boy children.

“Is Bluebrbutjs Uoirnuck nort ush. Ow chyou a Galleon, what’vr.” Ron flicked his card at Harry’s nose and Harry set it aflame before it reached midway. Hermione inhaled very, very deeply.

“Right, morons. They’re about to be here. Hagrid and... oh God. _I mean, Grawp!_ ” Hermione looked to the clouded, almost fully blackened sky. “Am I really doing this?”

“Uh, yeah, but remember what I said on instant p. _Someone_ needs a new _someone._ ” Ron elbowed Harry, forgetting he wasn’t in on the ‘joke’. 

“Ronald. Goodbye. If I never see you again, it would be indeed, too Fudging soon.” Hermione glared him into a submissive stance. She smiled, just a tiny one. “Harry, I’m relying on you.” She patted his shoulder. 

“Got it.” Harry smirked. “Tell Grawp we said, well, erm, nothing actually. Tell him we’ve erm, joined up the Night’s Watch now; can’t be bothered with friends, wives, Iron Thrones, you know, that sort.”

“Not you too.” 

Hermione hit herself in the forehead for the hundredth time today, and trudged towards the divide. All hope left her tiny, frail, scrunchable, cupcake-full, body.

From behind her,

“Fine, what about six Galleons?”

“I’M NOT ASKING KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT TO ‘SHAG UP’!”

“I said ‘shack’, mate, not shag. Who’s the pervo now?” 

Were the last words Hermione heard her best friends speak. 

 

#

**_I'm jist a girl who cain't say no,_ **

**_Cain't seem to say it at all_ **

 

 

 

Hermione Apparated into the flat at 2330. Her hair was slick no more, she suspected she had a very large, half-hand shaped bruise forming on her back, and her broken rib and toes had been Healed at St Mungo’s. She also still had a spickle of spit dripping from her right eye. 

Ronald and Harry were plopped upon the sofa, eating crisps and watching something predictably awful on the television. 

“Hermione!” Ron called. “ _Oklahoma!_ is on!”

“So, how is ol’ Grawpy doing?” Harry chimed in, slyly smirking. “Got any snoggies left for Wonnykins?” 

Ronald cackled.

“Harry James Potter, Ronald Arthur Weasley, and Rita Bludgerring Skeeter.” Hermione breathed.

“Uh, Harry mate, I’d uh--” He was gasping. Hermione had wordlessly and wandlessly Silencioed the both of them. 

They shrinked back against the sofa in terror. 

Hermione walked calmly to the kitchen, retrieved her cupcakes, and hurled them over the nook at both of their faces.

Then, she walked calmly to the sofa, and punched them once each. 

Hermione licked the frosting from her knuckles.

“Harry, goodnight.” 

He Apparated before she had finished speaking ‘night’. She smiled down at Ronald, cringing before her. 

“I scarlet loathe you, Ronald.”

His eyes expanded.

“Hermione, did Grawp try and snog you?”

“Ronald, did Harry try and snog _you_?”

Hermione Levicorpused Ronald above the sofa and began scooping the frosting from his upturned face and licking it from fingers. And then, licking it from his face. 

“Oh, fine, yes. I snogged Grawp.” She whispered into his ear.

“Merlin fuck, woman!”

“Shut up. Now.”

She pulled Ronald’s trousers down (up, really), and satisfactorily slapped both palms onto his behind. 

“Nox.” Hermione said.

 


End file.
